


Beneath the Moon

by CatS81



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Birthday, Camping, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Older Characters, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatS81/pseuds/CatS81
Summary: The two couples of MJN Air celebrate Arthur's birthday with a camping trip....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My grateful thanks, as always, to Linguini for the beta (and the encouragement ;))

“ _Camping_ , Arthur?”  Carolyn regarded her son in horror as the full extent of his excited words began to sink in.  “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“Completely serious!”  Arthur’s nod was keen.  “It’ll be brilliant.”

“This weekend coming?”

“I’ve organised it all!  You won’t have to do a thing!”

“Yes, dear-heart” she replied, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried for patience.  “Leaving aside the ridiculously short notice, how likely do you think it is that those statements are in fact true?”

“I promise.”  Her son’s response was earnest, eyes bright with enthusiasm, and she felt her consternation begin to soften.

“And that’s really how you want to celebrate your birthday, is it?  Stuck in the woods in the freezing cold?”

“Oh, Mum – it’s _June_!”

“Even so.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Douglas drawled from the opposite side of the portacabin, arms folded across his chest.  “But why exactly are you subjecting _me_ to this information, Arthur?”

The younger man looked confused.  “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, obviously your mother needs to know and I’m assuming you’re planning on dragging Martin along….”

“He doesn’t have to _drag_ me, Douglas,” Martin piped up in protest from the chair.  “If that’s what he wants to do, then….”

“Yes, you’ve always struck me as the outdoorsy type, Captain.”

“I was in the Scouts….” Martin bristled in defence.  

“Anyway,” Douglas continued.  “It still doesn’t explain _me_ being a party to these luxury weekend plans, regardless that the thought of you all being at one with nature is frankly hilarious.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake - you’re _invited_ , you clot,” Carolyn cut in with a customary eye roll.  “Wasn’t that obvious?”

Douglas raised an eyebrow.  “Arthur?”

“Of course you are, Douglas!  It wouldn’t be the same without you!”

“And not just invited,” Carolyn smirked, amused by his descending mask of grim realisation.  “ _Expected_ to attend, no less.”

“Is that so?”

“Most certainly so.”

“My own plans aside?”

“Well, put it this way:  if you intend to still be employed come Monday morning….”

“I _think_ you’ll find that’s illegal, Carolyn.”

“If I’m going, you’re going, idiot – end of story.”

Douglas held her gaze then chuckled.  “Come on, then, Arthur:  what’s the plan?”

“Well,” the younger man began, gesturing towards the table adorned with leaflets.  “I’ve found this _amazing_ campsite where everything will be set up for us, and we can make fires and toast marshmallows and lie and look at the stars, and….”

“Right.  And exactly what will we be sleeping in?”

“Tents.”  Arthur blinked, nonplussed.  “It’s _camping_ , Douglas.”

“I meant _quantity_ , Arthur – as in, are we all going to be cosied up under one giant…?”

“ _No_ ,” Martin cut in, aghast.  “Not a chance.”

“Look, if you’d wanted a couple’s holiday, why didn’t you…?”

“I’ve booked two tents,” Arthur said, his words trailing off as Carolyn groaned.  “Oh no:  shouldn’t I have?”

Douglas grinned, even as she shot him daggers.  “It’s _fine_ , Arthur.”

“I just thought….Well, I didn’t think you and Mum would want to be in with us and….”

“It’s absolutely fine.”

“Why didn’t you book _three_ , for heaven’s sake?”  Carolyn demanded in irritation, ignoring Douglas’ glee.  “It would hardly have been a stretch.”

Arthur’s forehead was creased in confusion.  “Because you two are….”

“ _Not_ enough to be sharing a tent,” she snapped.  “Not by a long way.”

“Oh.  Right.  I can….”

“Leave it,” Douglas dismissed with a wave, smirking as he approached Carolyn.  “I’m sure we’ll muddle through.”

“You speak for yourself.”

“I’ll change it, Mum,” Arthur reassured.  “I’ll ring up and….”

“At this late notice?”  Carolyn sighed.  “Chance would be a fine thing.”

“Oh, come now,” Douglas purred, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, and she raised a palm to halt his advance.  “Let’s not start this fine weekend of jollification on a sour note over something as simple as sleeping arrangements.”

“Stop it.”

“I won’t even protest if you insist on your own sleeping bag.”

“Oh, double sleeping bags are the _best_!” Arthur enthused before she could reply.  “We’ve got one, haven’t we, Skip?”

Martin blushed a furious scarlet.  “They don’t need to know that, Arthur!”

“ _Regardless_ ,” Carolyn continued through clenched teeth.  “Unless I am actually _hypothermic_ , Douglas, you are to take separate sleeping bags as an absolute _given_.”

“Spoil sport.”

“In fact I think hypothermia might be preferable, as it happens.”

“The lady doth protest too much methinks.”

“Hilarious.”

Martin groaned, even as Douglas drew a breath to reply.  “When do we leave, Arthur?”

“We can be there any time after six on Friday.  I thought maybe we could take some sausages and burgers, and do a barbecue!”

“Lovely, dear-heart,” Carolyn intoned dryly.  “Let’s all start the weekend with salmonella poisoning, why don’t we?”

“Melodrama really isn’t your style,” Douglas interjected with a grin, and she jabbed him in the ribs as his hand drifted across her back.  “If you leave the cooking to me, Arthur, the chances of that happening are zero.”

“Thank you, Douglas – I was actually sort of hoping you’d volunteer to do the cooking.”

“Although we _might_ be talking more quality salmon than value burgers….”

“Brilliant!”

“That’s settled, then.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes.  “Ludicrous pretensions aside?”

“If I’m not getting to _sleep_ in comfort, Carolyn….”

“How do you like the idea of sleeping _outside_ the tent, you pillock…?”

“….then I’ll be damned if decent food is also going to be sacrificed to the great gods of the forest.”

“Oh, enough,” she snapped, glancing at her watch.  “Go and do the walk-around, would you, before all this frivolous japery costs us our take-off slot?”

“Naturally.”  Douglas laughed and began to walk away.  “Your wish is my command.”

Carolyn exhaled in irritation before striding into her office and shutting the door, the impact reverberating about the flimsy walls, and causing the remaining couple to wince.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to invite them, Arthur?” Martin asked with a despondent sigh once his boss was out of earshot.  “A whole weekend of bickering and griping when we could have booked into some nice hotel, just the two of us, and….”

“Oh, Skip.” Arthur’s tone was soft as he squeezed the other man’s shoulder.  “Birthdays are for _families_.”

“Technically we’re not….”

“But we _are_ , though.  In all the ways that matter.”

“What:  the bickering and griping?”

“They’ll love it when we get there.  You’ll see.”

“And me?”  Martin turned his head to meet his partner’s eye.  “I don’t see how I can make this romantic with the two of them literally _feet_ away.”

Arthur grinned.  “I’m sure we’ll find a way.”

“But, see, if _we_ can find a way surely so can they.”

“Martin….”

“And frankly even the _thought_ of that is the biggest mood killer on the planet.”

Arthur sighed, bending to wrap his arms about Martin’s slender shoulders.  “You’re thinking too much.”

“You know I do that, Arthur.”

“It’s really simple:  I love you, so I’m sharing a tent with you.  And Douglas loves Mum, so….”

“Do you think he does?”

“Definitely.”

“They don’t seem….”

“It’s just how they are, Skip.”  Arthur pressed a reassuring kiss to his cheek.  “Don’t worry.  It’s all going to be great.”

Martin grimaced.  “I really hope you’re right….”

“Trust me:  when am I ever wrong?”

“…Otherwise it could well end up being the longest weekend of our lives.”

“I love long weekends!”

“I didn’t mean….”

“I know you didn’t – but my meaning’s _better_.”  Arthur patted Martin’s shoulders before straightening up again and reaching for his hand.  “Let’s go and get GERTI sorted; the sooner we get to Paris, the sooner we can start celebrating my birthday early.”

Martin smiled, snagging the other man about the waist.  “I think that’s the best suggestion you’ve made all day.”

Arthur’s grin was bright.  “Just don’t tell Mum.  She never normally lets me open my presents early.”

“Well, I’m over-ruling her.  Though obviously don’t tell her _that_ , either.”

They chuckled in conspiratorial warmth then each moved closer for a kiss, and Martin sighed at the increasing fervency, at the sensation of Arthur’s fingers at his shirt collar.

“For heaven’s sake,” Carolyn groaned as her office door flew open, one hand angled at her hip as she surveyed the scene.  “Do the two of you not recall the recent conversation we had about appropriate behaviour on duty?”

“And by ‘conversation’ she of course means ‘lecture’,” Douglas cut in as he appeared once more at the entrance to the portacabin, grinning at Carolyn even as she glared back. 

“Your point being?”

Douglas ignored her and gestured towards Martin.  “Walkaround’s done, Captain.  Nothing to report.”

“Good.”  Martin gave a clipped nod, flushing as he tried to reassert his professionalism and to pull away from Arthur though Arthur’s arm was firm about his waist.  “Sorry, Carolyn.”

“Sorry, Mum.  But I was just telling Skip….”

“I really don’t want to hear it, Arthur.”

“It’s nearly my birthday!  And I just….”

“That does not give you free reign.  I don’t want to have this discussion….”

“Lecture.”

“…again.”  Carolyn’s cobalt eyes were flashing as she turned towards her partner.  “Douglas, really – shut absolutely up.”

“We’re sorry, Carolyn,” Martin’s tone was sincere as he held up a palm.  “We really are.”

“I should think so.  Now, for God’s sake, go and get ready for take-off before I sack you on the spot.”

Martin and Arthur hurried from the building, and she tutted her disapproval as Douglas advanced, though she allowed him to pull her against him.

“It could be worse,” he remarked, and she sighed as he brushed his mouth to hers.

“It most certainly will be if we don’t get to Paris on schedule.”

“And the camping trip?”

“ _Nothing_ could be worse than that.”

He chuckled, palms tracing tiny circles low on her back.  “I could start feeling offended, you know.”

“Oh, get over yourself.  You’re not as irresistible as you like to think.”

He kissed her again with a flourish before releasing her, sauntering back towards the door and calling over his shoulder, “Fifteen minutes and we can be in the air if that would suit the mighty Alpha Dog?”

“ _Ten_ minutes,” she snapped back.  “And not a second more.”

His smile was infuriating as he held the door open, and she pushed past him, trying not to notice the familiar heat of his body, the luxuriant spice of his cologne. 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

“Wow!” Arthur exclaimed as they stepped into the clearing, the two fully set up tents appearing to shimmer in the late afternoon heat.

“That’s certainly one word for it,” Carolyn muttered, frowning as she plucked an errant leaf from her hair, silencing Douglas with a single look as he drew breath to reply.

They had parked up as instructed, a good mile from the campsite and her heart had sunk into her boots as she realised it would mean a hike through the woods.  Douglas had been relentless in his cheer, seemingly determined to annoy her as the sweat seeped into her clothes, and Martin and Arthur had been oblivious – marching along in their own bubble of happy anticipation and failing to notice her darkening mood.

“Oh, Mum, just look at it – it’s so cosy and inviting.”

“Hm.  I trust you remembered to order in the wine?”

“Yep.  And the pineapple juice.”

“ _Good_.”

Douglas gave a gentle snort, her inclination for reproach softening as he picked up her bag and carried it towards the tents, following in the enthusiastic wake of her son.

“I’m just so glad we didn’t have to put all this up ourselves.”  Martin pushed open one of the canopies, his breath escaping in apparent relief.  “Even the beds are made.”

Douglas raised an eyebrow and poked his head into the other tent before reappearing.  “A _slight_ exaggeration, Captain.”

Carolyn pushed past him to see for herself, the air mattresses covered in fleece blankets more inviting than she had envisioned.  “What did you expect, you idiot?  A four-poster?”

He smirked.  “How much more would we have had to pay?”

“You should have said, Douglas!” Arthur cut in.  “We could have gone for the whole glamping experience and….”

“I just worry about your mother’s back, that’s all.”

“Enough,” she snapped.  “Put my bag in the tent and then go and start the damn fire, would you?”

Douglas laughed.  “You do realise we’re off the clock, don’t you?”

“I fail to see the relevance.”

“Barking orders for the entire weekend….”

“Oh, you’d be disappointed if I wasn’t, surely?”

“Rather depends on the context.”

Martin interrupted before the banter could escalate, and Carolyn blinked, almost forgetting the others were present.  “I’ll help you, Douglas.”

“If you must.”

“And I’ll sort our sleeping bag out, Skip,” Arthur announced, his bright face appearing from where he had disappeared beneath the canvas.

“I, meanwhile, will open the wine,” Carolyn grinned, reaching into the nearby ice bucket and retrieving the dripping bottle.  “It might not be five-star luxury but consider the extras my gift to save our sanity.”

“ _Ours_?” Douglas asked.

“Well, mine at least.  The three of you are already too far gone for it to matter.”

“Mum!”

“Oh, go and do whatever you’re doing, Arthur,” she replied without rancour, unscrewing the cap and looking around for glasses.  “And you two snap to it with the fire.”

Martin looked as though he were considering a protest at her tone but he closed his mouth and followed Douglas towards the log pile.  Carolyn watched Arthur duck back into the tent and drew a long, satisfied breath at the group’s natural compliance, stooping to select a wine glass from the nearby tray.  She poured a hefty measure and dropped into a camping chair, grudgingly admitting to herself that the setting was indeed as idyllic as Arthur had promised.  Dusk was just beginning to fall, the clouds tinged a smoky pink, and the gentle breeze was still warm against her skin.  She settled back in the chair, unable to prevent a smile as she watched Martin struggle with the firewood, Douglas crouching with the kindling and matches.  The planes of his back shifted beneath his shirt as he worked, tiny beads of sweat forming at the nape of his neck, and she took a fortifying gulp of wine as she allowed her mind to wander. 

The fire flickered into life and Douglas straightened, his grin smug as he turned towards the other pilot.  “You see, Martin?” he teased, gesturing to the crackling glow.  “Nothing to it.”

“You were using fire-lighters!”

“Merely making the most of the tools available.”

“Cheating, you mean.”

“The fire’s lit, is it not?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Carolyn interjected with a groan.  “Every second spent arguing is a second further away from dinner – and might I remind you, Douglas, that you made boastful promises about salmon that I’m hoping you intend to fulfil?”

“Of course.”  Douglas smirked and pulled up a chair beside her, reaching into his bag for a bottle of water.  “It’s marinating as we speak.”

“Are you expecting it to leap into the flames of its own accord?”

“It needs embers, Carolyn.”

“Oh, terrific.  Only another three or four hours to go, then.”

“I’ve brought Hula Hoops!” Arthur declared as he emerged from the tent again, scrabbling in his rucksack before thrusting the red packet into his mother’s hands.  “That should keep us going for a bit, shouldn’t it?!”

“An unconventional amuse-bouche, certainly,” Douglas drawled, chuckling as she swatted his hand away.  “But clearly not an unwelcome one.”

“ _Definitely_ not,” Martin affirmed, accepting the proffered snack before settling himself on a blanket and gesturing for Arthur to sit beside him.  “Thanks, Arthur.”

“Oh, this is brilliant,” Arthur sighed after a moment, snuggling up to Martin and crunching on his crisps in contentment.  “Best birthday ever.”

“Your birthday isn’t until tomorrow, dear-heart.”

“I know, Mum, but it’s….sort of birthday season now, isn’t it?”

“Is that right?”

“ _Can_ it be?”

“If you insist.”  Carolyn stretched to reach the wine bottle, topping up her glass and pouring another for Martin.  “You’re going to need this, believe me.  An Arthur in birthday-season mode is an awful lot of Arthur to take.”

The pilot smiled and accepted the offering, flushing as Arthur pulled him closer.  “I think I can manage.  But thank you, Carolyn.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, huffing out a breath.  “What are we actually going to _do_ here, Arthur?  Nature is all very well and good but….”

“Oh, loads of stuff, Mum!”

“Such as?”

“Well, for instance,” Douglas interrupted, dark eyes shining, “we _could_ make ourselves scarce with a bracing constitutional and leave the love-birds to….”

“Not a chance.  You’re sitting here until that bloody fish is cooked, and not a minute before.”

“Obviously.  I meant tomorrow.”

“If we’re all still alive?”

“I brought _games_ for tomorrow, Douglas!”

“Oh, _good_.”

“Seriously, Arthur – do you not want a pub lunch, at the very least?”

Arthur shrugged.  “I just want us to be together.  It doesn’t really matter what we do.”

“Then let me propose bacon sandwiches – which, given that it’s your birthday, may well be delivered to your door….”

“Oh, Douglas – really?”  Arthur gushed.

“….and then perhaps a saunter to the pub and a meander back along the river – how does that sound?”

“It sounds amazing!”

“Though I’m warning you both now:  clothes must be well and truly on for the room service privileges to be conferred – understood?”

Martin hissed, “Douglas!”

“Birthday or no birthday.”

“Of course we’re going to have our clothes on!”

“Well, we can _put_ them on,” Arthur’s grin was wide.  “Can’t we, Skip?”

“It’s a tough call and you have my sympathies,” Douglas drawled, leaning back in his chair.  “Morning tuck or a morning…?”

“Stop it,” Carolyn interrupted with a swipe to his thigh, prompting stifled chuckles from the rest of the group.  “Now.”

“ _Yes_ , I suppose they don’t really need any encouragement on that score, do they?”

The captain’s cheeks were aflame.  “That’s enough, Douglas.  Seriously.”

Douglas laughed and raised a conciliatory palm.  “A step too far, sir?”

“ _Way_ too far, and you bloody well know it.”

“Oh, Skip, he’s just teasing.”  Arthur pressed a kiss to Martin’s cheek before turning back to Douglas.  “We promise to have our clothes on, Douglas – I’d like ketchup _and_ brown sauce please, and _loads_ of butter.”

“A classic combination, my liege – and for you, Captain?”

Martin narrowed his eyes.  “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.  Consider it part of my culinary services and therefore part of Arthur’s birthday present.”

“He’ll have the same as me, Douglas.”  Arthur clapped his palms to his knees and stood up, holding out a hand.  “Come on, Martin – let’s go and find some sticks for the marshmallows!”  

Martin groaned.  “It’s getting dark!”

“I’ve got a torch!”

“Of course you have.”  The pilot sighed but rose to his feet and allowed himself to be pulled along by Arthur, turning his head to address Douglas.  “No brown sauce.”

“Keep to my terms and your wish is my command, oh Sir of Sirs.”

Carolyn snorted with amusement, cutting off Martin’s reply as Arthur dragged him towards the wood, and tutting as Douglas’ palm found her leg.  She threw him a sideways glare.  “You can give that a rest for a kick-off.  Don’t think that suddenly being alone for a while is carte blanche.”

He chuckled, fingers tracing irritatingly pleasant patterns atop her trousers.  “And there’s me thinking we might have time to retire to our tent.”

“We most certainly do not.”  She toed some dirt towards the fire.  “Is this damned thing ever going to resemble embers?”

Douglas retrieved the stick at his side and prodded the smouldering wood.  “I’d say another half an hour.”

“You _are_ joking?”

“Plenty of time to pop indoors for a quick….”

“Not a chance.  To say nothing of the fact that I’m wearing three layers.”

He squeezed her thigh, rich baritone deepening suggestively.  “You know how much I like a challenge, Lyn.”

“I do - more’s the pity.”

“Take pity on me, then.”

She risked a glance towards him, allowing him to brush his mouth to hers, to briefly deepen it before pulling back, grinning as he groaned.  “Any good?” 

“No.”  He kissed her again, dark eyes shining.  “I’m far, _far_ more pitiful than that.”

“And don’t I know it.”  She rolled her eyes and shook her head in fond amusement.  “Pillock.”

“ _Your_ pillock.”

“Oh, don’t.”  She nudged him in the ribs.  “Go and sort that fish out, would you?”

“It’s marinating to perfection.”

“It’s marinating to death.  Get it in the bloody fire, Douglas – now.”

“It’ll burn.”

“I thought the term was ‘chargrilled’?”

“And there’s me thinking you’re a woman of culture.”  He stretched back in his chair, avoiding the sharp point of her elbow again.  “It’ll be worth the wait – I promise.”

“It had better be.”

“Along with all the rest of the delights I’ve….”

“Do shut up.  I’ve already made it clear that we are, under no circumstances, going to be sharing a sleeping bag.”

“Lyn,” he chastised with mock sincerity.  “Obviously I was talking about the toasted marshmallows.”

“Oh, _obviously_ you were.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, each content to watch the flames as they leapt and danced against the softly darkening sky.  His hand was warm as it sought hers, his thumb gentle and reassuring as it traced the lines of her wrist.

* * *

“What’s that one then, Douglas?  Do you know?”

Arthur’s voice was alight with curiosity in the blackness as they relaxed back against the blankets.  They had retired to the rug-covered grass to stargaze at his insistence, bellies full with what Carolyn had to admit was indeed delicious salmon.  They had naturally separated into pairs facing away from each other - Arthur had curled himself against Martin’s chest, and Douglas had briefly disappeared to retrieve blankets to drape over them before pulling her down beside him.  She had waited until night had fallen in earnest, the only light a faint glow from the residual fire concealing her shift towards him – and she felt him kiss her hair as she let her head fall against his shoulder, the enveloping fleece blankets making her drowsy.

“Certainly I do,” he replied with confidence, and she smiled at her son’s responding happy sigh.  “That particular constellation happens to represent the legend of Drayca the Dragon.”

“Wow!”

Carolyn exhaled in derision.  “Don’t be fooled, dear-heart.  He’s just….”

“It’s absolutely true, Arthur – as true as any of the others, regardless.”

“Which means not true at all,” Martin interrupted.

“I want to hear it, Douglas – go on.”

“Well, legend has it that the fierce and somewhat terrifying Drayca – see her breathing fire, there?  Those three stars in a line?”

“Oh yeah!”

“She was a determined and independent dragon, and often set herself apart from other creatures – her constellation is quite a way from the others around her, if you notice.”

“Hm.  Wasn’t she lonely?”

“Not in the least – in fact she relished her ability to stand alone and fend for herself.”

“I still think she’d have been lonely….”

“It’s a _story_ , Arthur,” Carolyn cut in.  “Do I need to remind you again that dragons don’t exist, nor have _ever_ existed?”

“It’s called ‘empathy’,” Douglas replied.  “Giving oneself over to the artistic interpretation of….”

“It’s called naively indulging your whimsy.”

“Mum, I really want to find out what happens!”  Arthur’s voice was insistent from behind them.  “What happened to Drayca, Douglas?”

“Well, in the end…she discovered that if she let people in, her life improved immeasurably…and they in turn discovered that she had a much bigger heart than she’d ever previously let on.”

“Oh!  The brightest star in the middle – that’s her heart!”

“Spot-on, Arthur.”

“So she wasn’t quite as scary as everyone first thought?”

“Oh good Lord, no – she was still absolutely terrifying.  But the size of her heart somewhat made up for it…and she even found love eventually, despite having fried her first two suitors to a crisp.”

“What rot.”  Carolyn jabbed him in the ribs and he laughed, the rich sound carrying on the still air.

“So _cynical_.”

“Well, I thought it was lovely, Douglas,” Arthur exhaled in satisfaction.  “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Martin sniffed.  “Even if it was really obvious that Drayca was supposed to be Caro….”

“Martin, really,” she snapped. “Utter one more syllable and you won’t live to see another dawn.”

“It’s not my fault if Douglas can’t concoct a more original story.”

“Oh, was it about Mum?” Arthur asked in surprise.  “That’s even _better_!”

“Don’t you start, Arthur.”

“But she found love in the end even though she was scary – that’s brilliant!”

“Yes, well…that very much remains to be seen.”

“Any stories about stewards and pilots, Douglas?”

“Alas there aren’t too many ancient legends involving such modern protagonists, I’m afraid.”

“Besides which they’re not _literal_ , dear-heart.  You might have noticed that I’m not in reality a fire-breathing dragon.”  Her fingers poked Douglas’ flank again as he drew breath to interject.  “Not another _word_ , you clot.”

“I know which side my bread is buttered, Carolyn.”

“I could _write_ one!” Arthur piped up, even as Martin groaned in protest.  “A really romantic story with lots of….”

“In front of your _mum_ , Arthur?”

Douglas gave a gentle snort.  “We’ve already been subjected to your sensuous treatment of marshmallows tonight, Martin.  I hardly think….”

“They were gooey!  What was I supposed to do?!”

“Not use your _teeth_ on Arthur’s chin, for starters.”

Martin choked.  “Oh, God – you _saw_ that?”

“The birds in their roosts saw that, Captain.”

“Oh, _God_.”

“So I’m afraid any literary effort from Arthur will now rather pale into insignificance.”

“You always said you didn’t mind us being coupley, Douglas,” Arthur protested.  “You said….”

“Oh, don’t pay him any heed, Arthur,” his mother soothed.  “You know very well you don’t have a bigger champion.”

“A compliment, Carolyn?”  Douglas nuzzled against her head in the darkness and she pressed a silent kiss to his shoulder.  “Will wonders never cease?”

“Consider this year’s quota filled.”

“Of course.”

The group lapsed into silence then, the couples cuddling closer beneath the blankets as the gentle breeze turned cooler.  Carolyn sighed as Douglas shifted to wrap an arm around her, encouraging her onto her side and further into the warmth of his body.  She was mildly uncomfortable, the ground hard against her hip despite the protective fleece layer, but somehow she was content, the solid breadth of him pleasant and reassuring beneath her palm.  Behind them, Arthur gave a muffled moan and she rolled her eyes, though suppressed an amused chuckle.

“Really, you two,” she admonished without malice.  “If you’re going to get into all that there’s a perfectly good tent with your names emblazoned on the canvas.”

She could almost feel Martin wince in the gloom.  “Sorry, Carolyn.”

“Sorry, Mum!  I’m just so happy!”

“I know you are, dear, and I’m terribly glad for you – but I don’t particularly need to hear the evidence thereof, alright?”

“We’ll go,” Martin stammered.  “Come on, Arthur.”

She could hear the couple scramble to their feet, giggling as they stumbled towards the tent, and Douglas gave a throaty laugh, the sound rumbling against her cheek.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his mirth subsiding.  “Do you think they’re intending to work up an appetite for the morning?”

She tapped his chest in reproach.  “Stop it.”

“I suppose it _is_ his birthday – and what’s a birthday without a little…?”

“You’re perilously close to sleeping outside, Douglas – tell me again why you thought only two tents was a good idea?”

“We might both be better off sleeping out here, as it happens.” he teased.  “If you want to stand less chance of overhearing.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

“Young love, Lyn – remember that?”

“ _No_ ,” she insisted, poking him again as he laughed and pulled her closer.  “Not in the slightest.”

“Well, lust, then.”

“Even less.”

“Rubbish.”

“Regardless,” she continued crisply.  “I most certainly do _not_ need to listen to my only child in the throes of passion….”

“We could always….”

“No.”

“…give them a run for their money.”

“You’re such a wit.”

“Three layers of clothing are a mere technicality.”

“I’m sure.  But even so.”  She groaned at the sudden spasm in her back and rolled away from him to lie flat, shard of pain tearing at her muscles.  “I’m too old for all this nonsense.”

He gave a dismissive snort and struggled to a seated position, reaching to pull her up beside him.  His hand negotiated the layers of her clothing, finding the soft skin of her lower back and beginning to knead the tense knots.  She gave a muted whimper and leant forward against her knees to afford him better access, feeling her body yield to his ministrations, the pain receding.

“Better?” he murmured after a few moments, his palm tracing soothing circles, fingers easing away the tension.

“Marginally.”

“Oh, high praise indeed.”

She moaned, the sound stuttering from her body as her tendons seized again.  “Bit higher.  And harder.”

“Said the actress to the bishop,” he quipped as he complied, hand sliding a firm path up her spine.  “About there?”

“Mmm.”

He gave a throaty chuckle, pulse quickening at her reaction, the permission to explore her skin.  “Any more of that and I’ll be fair _dragging_ you into the tent.”

She gave him a sideways glare, determined not to notice how appealing he looked in the amber glow of the fire.  “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

“Well, obviously – you know I always have at least seven.”

“And apparently altruism is beyond you.”

He let his palm wander the length of her back, glorying in her curves and her unconscious relaxation into his touch.  “It’s helping, isn’t it?”

She tutted, though the sound melted into a sigh.  “Arrogant idiot.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“In that I feel slightly more able to stand up?  Oh, by all means, consider it a victory.”

He tugged her towards him and kissed her, mouth moving across hers with a gentle, practised ease.  “Let’s go to bed.”

“I told you, Douglas.  I don’t….”

“Just let me rub your back some more, then.”

“With a view to…?”

“No agenda.”  His lips found the tender spot at the juncture of her jaw and neck, and she fought to keep from trembling.  “Alright?”

“Oh, alright.  Come on, then.”

He grinned, groaning to his feet and proffering his hand, hauling her upright.  “Your boudoir awaits, madam.”

“Terrific.  I’m _such_ a lucky girl.”

His smile turned to a husky laugh as he led her down the gloomy path towards the canvas pyramid, his arm wrapping a protective circle about her waist.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

“Good morning, gentlemen – I hear you ordered room service?”

Douglas’ voice was loud and jovial as he approached the tent, determined to allow the other couple time to rouse, and he rattled the canvas with his free hand.  The zip began to travel southwards and Arthur’s tousled head appeared, eyes blinking into the daylight as he looked up.

“Morning, Douglas,” he yawned, confusion flickering across his drowsy face.  “Is it morning already?”

“Indeed it is,” the older man smiled in fondness, reaching down to offer the paper plate.  “Here.  Happy birthday.”

Arthur’s sleepy grin was wide, eyes shining with happiness as he accepted the gift.  “Oh, Douglas.  You were serious!”

“Of course I was.”  Douglas blinked, nonplussed.  “Enjoy them while they’re hot, Arthur.”

“Thank you so much!  We will!”

Arthur disappeared back into the tent then, and Douglas could hear him chattering in excitement to Martin, the tantalising smell of fried bacon dissipating as the canvas flapped closed.  Douglas gave a satisfied nod and strode back towards his own tent, stooping to pick up another plate from by the fire en route.

Carolyn was stretching beneath the blankets as he ducked beneath the canvas, and he felt his heart lurch as he watched her gradual rise to alertness.  It always struck him as  a privilege that he got to see her at such an intimate time of day, before her iron mask could fall into place – she was vulnerable so rarely and it thrilled him that she allowed him to witness even the tiniest chinks in her armour.

He bent down beside her and brushed a curl from her forehead with the back of his hand.  “Lyn.”

She groaned and slid further into the sleeping bag, her reply muffled.  “Two more minutes.”

He chuckled, threading his fingers in a gentle rhythm through the hair that was just visible.  “It’ll get cold.”

“Did you make tea?”

“Of course I made tea.”

The sleeping bag rustled as she reappeared, eyes bleary and voice husky with sleep.  “Gold star, then.”

He leant forward to brush his mouth across hers.  “And a very good morning to you, too.”

“Please,” she grunted, tutting as he kissed her again and shifting to a half-seated position.  “There’s nothing remotely ‘good’ about waking up in a field.”

“Apart from waking up with me, you mean?”

“Oh, ha ha.  Pass me the tea, will you?”

He grinned and handed her the insulated mug, watching her features slacken as she took a grateful sip.  He slid a plate onto her lap.  “Enjoy.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He retrieved his own plate and moved to sit beside her, ignoring her complaint as the air bed shifted beneath them and taking a bite of his sandwich.  They ate in companionable silence, gratification filling him when she gave a satisfied sigh and set aside her plate, wrapping her fingers around her mug.

“Will that do?” he asked, finishing the last of his bacon and turning towards her.

She shrugged, though he read straight through the feigned indifference.  “It was passable.  At best.”

“Shame.  I was hoping for payment in kind.”

“And there’s your natural inclination for altruism again.”

He laughed.  “How’s your back?”

She shifted, testing the flex of her muscles and he frowned as she failed to hide a wince.  “I believe I’ll survive.”

“You don’t want to sit out the walk?”

She glared at him.  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

“I’m merely _concerned_ , Lyn – as I believe is my right.”

“Is it?”

“What would you prefer?  That I tell you I’m deferring to your senior age and weaker constitution?”

“It _does_ have more of a plausible ring to it.”

“Well, fine.  Consider it said, then.”

“I still have hot tea, Douglas.  And, believe me, I am absolutely _not_ above pouring it into your lap.”

He grinned.  “You can’t have it both ways.”

“Oh, of _course_ I can – how many years have you known me?”

“In the biblical sense?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Juvenile idiot.”

“And how many years have you known _me_?”

She groaned.  “The threat of tea-versus-lap still applies.  Let’s be very clear on that.”  

“You’d be cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

“I would _not_.”

“Sometimes I think my _lap_ is the only thing you--”

“Shut up, you ridiculous pilot.  Shut up now and shut up fast.”

His laughter was deep, joy erupting through his chest, and he drew her closer to kiss her.  “Are you planning to get up today?”

She wrinkled her nose in disapproval.  “What time is it?”

“Little after nine.”

“Oh, _God_.  Suppose I should, then.”

“No rush.  I can’t imagine Fitton’s answer to Romeo and Jomeo will be surfacing any time soon.”

She snorted.  “That’s no excuse.”

“I just meant,” he drawled, brushing his fingers across her cheek.  “If you want an extra half an hour or so….”

“Don’t treat me like an old lady, Douglas.”

“Perish the thought.”  He kissed her again, grinning as she sighed.  “Come on, then.  The showers are actually not that bad.”

“When compared to…?”

“Oh, I don’t know - French campsites?”

She tried for a glare and it thrilled him when the expression melted into laughter, her forehead falling against his.  “Make yourself useful and help me up.”

He rose to his feet and extended his hand, pulling her into his chest.  “Do you need me to wash your back?”

“Your wit knows no bounds.”

He chuckled and bent to pick up her wash bag.  “Take your time.”

“ _Thank_ you.  I’m sure it’ll be the _height_ of luxury.”

He sniggered at her tone, settling back  as she pushed aside the canvas and ventured into the crisp morning.

* * *

“For goodness sake, Martin!  Why on earth did you bring it in the first place?!”

Carolyn’s hands were angled to her waist in exasperation as the four of them stood on the river bank.  They had passed a pleasurable few hours in the nearby pub, Arthur in high spirits and encouraging Martin in his wake.  Douglas had relaxed at her side, the easy company of the group improving her mood, and they had wound up on the woodland path after dessert, the river bubbling along through the trees.

Martin gave a small squeak of distress.  “We came straight from work, Carolyn!”

“I meant on the _walk_ , you idiot!”

“Well, I don’t like to leave it – what if it got stolen, or…or….?”

“You’re not serious – who the bloody hell in their right mind would _steal_ it?!”

“I hate to interrupt,” Douglas chimed in.  “But said object is at serious risk of being caught by the current, and….”

“Oh, God,” Martin groaned, beginning to skip along the bank to keep pace.  “Oh, _God_.”

“Don’t worry, Skip!  I’ll buy you a new one!”  Arthur grabbed at his partner’s hand as Martin stooped to slip off his shoes.  “Oh no, Martin….”

“I’ve got to, Arthur!”

“No, you don’t!  It’s far too dangerous and….”

“And it’s a _hat_ , Martin,” Carolyn reiterated, taking a step towards him.  “I know it’s your pride and joy but, really – get a grip.”

“It’s my fault, Mum!  I wanted to wear it and I tripped, and--”

Martin shook his head.  “Just an accident, Arthur.”

“I’m not going to let you go in there, Skip.”

Douglas drew a breath, placing a hand on each of the younger men’s shoulders.  “Neither of you are going in there.”

Carolyn groaned as she read the intention behind his words.  “For heaven’s sake.”

He grinned, holding her gaze.  “It’ll be a walk in the park, Carolyn.”

“Or more accurately, a drowning in the river.”

Arthur yelped.  “Douglas!  Are you….are you actually going to…?”

“Oh, of _course_ he’s not going to, dear-heart.”

“Oh, of _course_ I’m going to, Arthur.”

Carolyn narrowed her eyes in threat, even as Douglas began to remove his shoes.  “You are _not_.”

“Well,” he said as he straightened, slipping the jacket from his shoulders and handing it to her.  “Touching as your concern is--”

“ _Please_.”  

“--I think you’ll find I am.  Back in a jiffy.”

Martin took a step forward.  “Are you sure, Douglas?  Are you absolutely sure?”

“If it’s a choice between that and listening to you bemoan the demise of your prize possession for the rest of the weekend…”

“It looks rough out there.  I can’t ask you to.”

“You’re not asking.  That’s enough now, Martin.”

Douglas gestured in dismissal before descending into the river, drawing a sharp breath as its icy fingers gripped his legs.  He began to wade towards the hat,  bobbing along in the current, swearing in an undertone as the water lapped fiercely at his waist.  He took several steps forwards, trying not to focus on his increasing discomfort, on the feel of his clothes clinging to his skin.

“This is all going to end in tears, Douglas!”  Carolyn warned from the river bank.  He plastered on a grin over his shoulder towards her.

“There’s no end to my talents, Carolyn.  Hat-wrangling is merely a new one to add to my ever-increasing repertoire.”

“Just watch your step, you giant clot.”

“It’s all under control, darl--”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” she snapped, and he laughed.  “For goodness sake.”

“Almost there.”

The hat was at last within reach and he lunged forwards with as much elegance as he could muster, feeling his foot catch on a rock, pain lancing through his ankle.  He was thrown off balance, shock rattling through him as he plunged into the swirling current.  He gasped as he re-surfaced, air stuttering into his lungs, panic gripping him as he was drawn under again.  The water was consuming him, roaring in his ears and filling his mouth, and he registered vaguely the preposterousness of the situation as he groped for the surface, inhaling a ragged breath.

With determination, he planted his feet to the river bed, fingers grasping for the hat, legs staggering towards the bank.  He raised a hand to reassure Carolyn as he heard her shout his name, tossing the hat to Arthur and feeling Martin’s fingers digging into his bicep, pulling him upwards.

The coughing eased after a few minutes, Carolyn’s palm applying firm pressure to his back as he fought to clear his chest, bent double from the effort.  She moved around to face him as he straightened, the concern in her expression laid bare as she appraised him, relief morphing into disdain as his breathing eased.

“Bloody idiot,” she chastised, though her hand remained on his hip, fingers unconsciously gripping his sodden clothes.  “What the _hell_ were you thinking, you complete and utter pillock?”

He chuckled, the sound irritating his throat and sparking a fresh bout of coughing.  “Just slipped,” he croaked as he settled, unfazed by her apparent lack of worry.  “Totally fine.”

She squeezed his fingers and tutted, the actions of her body at odds with her tone.  “And at your age, Douglas – honestly.”

Arthur had nestled in next to his mother and Douglas found himself being pulled into a forcible hug.  “You’re so brave, Douglas!” he exclaimed as he pulled away.  “Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine, Arthur.”

“You’re shivering!”

“Just a little on the soggy side.  I’ll dry out once we get the fire going.”

Martin took a step forward, freckled cheeks pale.  “I...don’t know what to say, Douglas.”

“Think nothing of it, Martin.”

“You could have drowned!”

Douglas blew out a dismissive breath, clearing his throat in the aftermath.  “A tad melodramatic, I fear.”

“We all saw you go under….”

“An unfortunate and slightly embarrassing blunder.  All’s well that ends well.”

“I really, really appreciate it.”

“Yes, well. We all know how much that ludicrous hat means to--”

The end of his sentence was lost to another series of violent coughs, and Douglas found himself being heartily slapped between the shoulder blades by Arthur before his peripheral vision caught Carolyn shooing her son away.

“Enough of all this now,” she told the group in a clipped tone.  “Let’s get back to camp and get that fire going.”

“Here, Douglas,” Arthur said, shrugging off his jacket and offering it to the older man.  “I think you--”

“No need.”  Douglas’ reply was terse as he raised a palm, and made Arthur frown in confusion.  “I said I was fine and I meant it.”

“But you’re coughing!  And you’re so cold!”

“Arthur,” Carolyn said in warning.  “Leave him be.”

“But--”

“It’s laudable, dear-heart.  But leave him.”

She ran a hand across Douglas’ lower back, shepherding him back towards the path and encouraging the group to begin moving once more.  Douglas was grateful for the warmth of her palm through the saturated cotton of his shirt.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Douglas edged closer to the fire, the cold that had seeped into his bones still not abating in spite of the welcome heat.  He had finally relented to Arthur’s determined efforts to re-clothe him, and now he was glad for the soft fleece of the jumper against the residual dampness of his skin.  He was embarrassed by the stumble in the river and ashamed of his response – he had brushed off the group’s concern, made light of it, but the effort had been exhausting and presently he was silent, eyes focussed on the flames.

Martin and Arthur had long since retired, and Carolyn was nowhere to be seen.  She was adept at reading his needs and he was grateful for the space, allowing the self-loathing to curl back beneath his ribs.  It was a decompression, a wrestling of his critical inner voice back to its dull whisper, and she understood that essential element of his psyche without question.  Admittedly, he mused with a snort, he was starting to miss her.   _Pathetic at your age to still be so beholden to a woman, old boy.  Even if you **have** been rather taken with said woman for more years than you’d care to confess…._

“Right,” Carolyn announced in a crisp tone from behind him, making him wonder if she was a mind-reader.  “Is that enough time for brooding, Douglas, or am I to walk on egg shells for the _whole_ rest of this evening?”

He grinned, genuine warmth spreading through him as he turned his head.  “Oh, is that what you were doing?”

“You know what I was doing, idiot.”  She filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire, then flopped into the chair beside him.  “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged, suppressing a resurgent shiver and tucking one hand into the jumper’s pocket.  “A little chilly.  But otherwise alright.”

She picked up a stick and poked it at the fire.  “It was a bloody stupid thing to do.”

“I’m alright, Lyn.”

“That does not even _remotely_ negate my point.”

“Would you rather I’d drowned?”

“I’d rather you’d used your common sense in the first place.”

“I got the hat back, did I not?”

“Hardly the stuff of heroism.”

He huffed out an amused breath.  “I think Martin and Arthur would beg to differ.”

“Well, of course they would!”  She rolled her eyes.  “Martin and that idiotic hat.”

“He’d be lost without it.  I felt it was my solemn duty as his First Officer to….”

“Oh, stop it.”  She nudged him in the ribs and he chuckled, his breath catching and precipitating a hacking cough he struggled to control.  She frowned, concern edging her tone.  “Douglas….”

He raised a palm as he fought to stem the tide, leaning forward on his knees and feeling her hand rub his back.  “Frog in my throat,” he managed at length, his breathing starting to calm.

“Hm.  A whole _army_ of frogs, more like.”

She rose to her feet, snagging the kettle with a towel and pouring them each a generous mug of tea.  She pressed one into his hands, and he sighed in relief as the steam warmed his face.  They drank in silence, the sun dissolving into a hazy red glow against the clouds, and he settled back, his shoulder brushing hers.

“You don’t need to be all things to all people,” she murmured without looking at him.  “Surely you know that.”

“I’m not trying to….”

“You are, Douglas.  You always do.”

He gave a shuddering sigh, discomfited by her perceptiveness.  “If I admit it was a foolhardy move, will you leave it?”

She shot him a withering look.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“All I did was retrieve a _hat_ , Carolyn.”

“Because you were showing off!  Because you have this bizarre need for performance all the time!”

“Helping someone constitutes performance, does it?”

She sighed.  “You exhaust yourself by constantly being switched on.  You….”

“The most I’ll concede is a slight sense of shame at falling over – good enough?”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she snapped, jabbing a finger towards him.  “Just you remember who it is you’re talking to.”

He released a heavy breath and allowed his head to drop backwards.  “Lyn….”

“Don’t.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You mean aside from getting into a _damning_ assessment of your mental state?”

“Yes.  Aside from that.”

She took a sip of tea.  “I don’t know why I bother, Douglas.  I really don’t.”

“You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

“I most certainly am _not_.”  She turned towards him, eyes glittering.  “If you carry on like this….”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll do yourself damage.  And I’m not just talking about physically.”

He was quiet as he allowed her words to settle, their inconvenient truth gnawing at his stomach.   _I can’t ever let on how inadequate I feel.  So I overcompensate.  I make grand gestures.  I…._

“You know I’m right, don’t you?”

He tried for a nonchalant shrug.  “Because you always are?”

“Oh, well done.   _Finally_ you’re learning.”

“Well, you know me.”

“I _do_ know you – notoriously slow on the uptake, amongst other things.”

He gave a brief grunt of laughter.  “If I had the energy I’d formulate some kind of witty retort or innuendo….”

“Don’t even bother.”

“For all the good it would do me.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for his hand, folding her fingers around his and drawing a sharp breath.  “You’re freezing.”

“Mm.  Can’t seem to get warm.”

She rose decisively, pulling him up with her and then releasing him as she tipped sand over the fire in one fluid motion.  The flames extinguished, she began towards the tent, glaring over her shoulder as he remained still.  “Well, come on, you cretin.  We’re not going to solve that particular problem out here, are we?”

Her brusque words infused his chest with affection and without another word he followed her beneath the canvas.

“Clothes off, then,” Carolyn instructed once the door had flapped closed in their wake, turning to switch on the electric lamp and flooding the darkness with a sodium glow.

He chuckled at her directness but obeyed, bending to undo his laces.  “If this is your attempt at seduction, Carolyn….”

“Oh, ha ha, funny pilot.”  She unzipped her coat, slipping it from her shoulders.  “Do you want to catch your death or not?”

“Tough choice.”

“By all means take your chances.”

“Hmm.”  He pretended to consider, slipping off his socks and grimacing at the cool groundsheet.  “I think being naked in a sleeping bag with you might _just_ about edge it, as it happens.”

Carolyn was unbuttoning her trousers.  “It’s a simple matter of thermodynamics, Douglas.”

“Funny how _adamant_ you were before this trip about no sharing of said sleeping bags.”

“I refer you to the above point.”

“Thermodynamics?”

“Naturally.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

She clicked her tongue in disapproval, though her demeanour sobered as she noticed his shaking fingers fumbling with shirt buttons.  She covered his hands with hers, stilling his efforts. “Let me.”

“Oh, Lyn.  What kind of man…?”

“None of that.  Just let me.”

Her nimble digits made short work of his struggle, and she pushed the shirt down his arms and ran her palms across his chest.  He felt his breathing hitch as she dropped her hands to his belt but she was focussed and efficient, shedding him of the final layers of clothing before guiding him down to the airbed.  

He watched her pull her jumper over her head, her t-shirt following suit, and then she was kneeling beside him, unzipping both of their sleeping bags.  She slipped onto the mattress and pulled the double layer across their bodies, sliding towards him.

He groaned low in his throat as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, and his own hands splayed across her back, tracing her curves.  She was blissfully warm, the heat of her body infusing into his, and he sighed, feeling his breath against her hair.

“Better?” she asked after a moment, palms stroking soothing circles into his skin.

“Mm,” he murmured, fingers toying with the waistband of her underwear.  “Though this hardly seems fair, Lyn.”

She gave an amused grunt.  “Pray, tell.”

“Something about the relative levels of clothing we appear to still be wearing.”

“I hardly think that’s a priority.”

“Oh, I don’t know – you want to maximise the heat transference, don’t you?”

“I’m _rapidly_ changing my mind.”

He grinned.  “Spoil sport.”

She twisted away to extinguish the lamp before tugging him back towards her, and he nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin.  He could feel himself beginning to thaw as he relished the feel of her, the comfort of her hands on his back.  He shifted to press his cheek to her chest, relaxing further as she slid calming fingers into his hair.

“You still with me?” she murmured as he drifted in a contented haze, and he moved his head to kiss her, lips lingering on the curve of her breast.  She chuckled.  “Apparently so.”

“If I weren’t so damned exhausted….”

“Oh, you’d be doing nothing, you pillock.  Mainly because you’d be very firmly ensconced within your own bloody sleeping bag.”

“You talk the talk, Lyn, but I think we both know….”

“Go to sleep.”

He gave a gentle snort and kissed her chest again before losing himself in the softness of her skin, the intimate caress of her hands.  Her heart thrummed steadily against his cheek, and he lost all thoughts of resistance, its rhythm lulling him into the enveloping bliss of slumber.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little extra warning for sex in this chapter....

Carolyn blinked awake as weak sunlight saturated the canvas, bathing the tent in an amber glow.  She was warm and drowsy, her mind rebelling against the rise to alertness – though it was impossible to ignore the increasing numbness in her arm.  She shifted her shoulder in an attempt to rouse Douglas, and he grunted in protest, nestling further into her side.  

“Douglas…,” she sighed, her heart softening as his nose edged closer to the hollow of her throat.  His breathing stuttered before settling again and she nudged him once more.  “Time to wake up.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating through her skin, and she fought back a rush of arousal.  He was solid and heavy in her arms, the delectable heat rising from his body a welcome contrast to his previous state.  She allowed herself a moment of indulgence, kissing his head before trying to wake him again.  He exhaled in a gentle rasp, and she tutted as his hand slid from her waist to her breast, thumb brushing her nipple.

“Ah, so you _are_ awake. You know what happened to the boy who cried wolf.”

He chuckled against her neck, fingers massaging with practised ease.  “Must be an unconscious impulse.”

“Hm.”

He shifted his hips, his erection urgent against her thigh.  “Lyn….”

“Oh, don’t start,” she chastised without rancour, attempting to shrug away, though he held her fast.  “You’re forgetting where we are.”

“Hm.”  He was kissing her neck, teeth grazing her skin.  “I must still be a bit hypothermic.”

“Not a chance.  In fact I’d say _cold_ is exactly what you need just at the....”

“What I _need_ ….”

She exhaled and struggled onto her side to face him, suppressing a moan as he captured her mouth with his.  His hands began a languid, familiar exploration of her body before she caught his wrist as he teased her through her underwear.  “Douglas.”

“What’s that notion…?” he murmured between searing kisses, “About something positive and life-affirming?”

“There’s a little-known caveat,” she replied, unable to prevent the husky tone.  “ _Not_ in a tent and most _certainly_ not where one might be overheard.”

He gave a gentle snort, continuing to caress her.  “You’re not exactly fighting me off with a stick.”

“Yes, well - I always did exhibit poor judgement where men are concerned.”  She gasped, body arching against his hand, rational thought dissipating as her arousal spiralled.  “Go on, then.  As long as you’re quick.”

He grinned, sliding her knickers down and rolling her gently onto her back.  His groan was raw as he gripped her hip, the sound softening to a curse at the cheerful call from just beyond the canvas.

“Mum!  Douglas!  Are you awake?”

Carolyn cleared her throat as Douglas dropped his head to her shoulder, his muffled frustration echoed in the pounding of her heart, the ache in her abdomen.  She drew a breath, missing his warmth as he moved away, and steadying her voice as she called back,

“Yes, Arthur – bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

His face appeared around the door, smile wide as he produced a plate of croissants with a flourish.  “Look what I found in my bag!  I’d completely forgotten I’d packed them!”

She jabbed Douglas in the ribs as he stifled a groan.  “Lovely, dear-heart.”

“So Skip and I made a fire – all by ourselves! - and we warmed them up.”  He stepped into the tent, and Carolyn drew the sleeping bag closer about her body, self-consciousness creeping into her skin.

Arthur dropped to a crouch, proffering the plate to Douglas who struggled to lean up on his elbow.  “Here, Douglas – we wanted to say thank you.  For yesterday.”

“You _really_ didn’t need to, Arthur….”

“Oh, it was nothing – honestly!”

Carolyn caught Douglas’ tone, stretching across him to accept the gift.  “But obviously he’s immensely grateful.”

“Indeed I am.  I happen to be _ravenous_.”  He swiped a pastry and took a bite, ignoring the roll of her eyes.  “Delicious.”

“Good.”  Arthur’s gaze flickered between Douglas and his mother.  “The water’s probably boiling by now – can I bring you some tea?”

“Could you give us five or so minutes, Arthur?”

“Tea would be most appreciated, dear-heart,” Carolyn interrupted, fingers digging into Douglas’ thigh to silence him.  “Quick as you can.”

“Right-o.  Back in a tick.”

Douglas slumped back against the bed as Arthur hurried away, swallowing another mouthful of croissant and raising an eyebrow.  “‘Quick as you can’?”

“‘Five or so minutes’?”

He reached for her, prising the plate from her hand.  “I was _grossly_ over-estimating.”

“Oh, I know you were.”  She rolled her eyes.  “And keep your bloody voice down, you ungrateful….”

“I’m not ungrateful.  I just have slightly more pressing matters that require my attention than breakfast.”

She reached beneath the covers, tracing his thick length and grinning as he hissed.  “I take it you’re feeling better, then.”

“Give me another thirty seconds and ask me again.”

“Hm,” she pretended to consider as she continued the gentle strokes.  “I wouldn’t want the croissants getting cold.  Not after Arthur went to all that trouble.”

“Lyn….”

“He and Martin made the fire _all by themselves_ , remember.”

“Is this supposed to be some kind of delaying tactic?”

“Is it working?”

“ _No_ ,” he growled, snaring her wrist and dragging her towards him for a kiss.  “Please.”

“Begging, Douglas?” she tutted, gripping his shoulders as he laid her down.  “Not your usual style.”

“I’m on a hair trigger….”

“And Martin and Arthur are just outside.”

“I’ll be quiet.”  He kissed her again.  “What’s life without a little risk, hm?”

“You’ve got sixty seconds, idiot.  And I expect a quid pro quo when we get back to civilisation.”

“My pleasure.”

“Quite literally.”

He nudged her knees apart, fingers dipping between them, and gave a shuddering sigh at the feel of her.  “ _Christ_ , you’re….”

“Just get on with it.  No-one likes a show-off.”

With a grin he slid inside her and she swallowed his moan, biting back her own cry of pleasure.  She clawed his back, encouraging his pace, gasping as he roughly palmed her breast.  His mouth was hot against her ear, velvet baritone spilling into her body, and she felt herself jolt with unexpected intensity.  It was enough to catapult him over the edge, face buried in her neck to muffle his roar, eyes still dark with lust as he reached between them again.

“Close?” he murmured throatily, and she gave a soft whimper, his ministrations igniting fire along her nerves.

“Alas, not close enough,” she replied after a beat, release still agonisingly elusive, gripping his wrist to still him.  “Later, Douglas.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth, body returning to equilibrium as he slipped from within her, rolling onto his back and pulling her into his side.  “I love….”

“Oh, _do_ shut up.”

He chuckled.  “It doesn’t stop it being true.”

“Post-coital clap-trap.”

“Even then.”

She snorted in disdain, stretching away from him to retrieve her jumper and pulling it over her head just as Arthur rustled the canvas again.

“Okay to come in, Mum?” he called, stepping into the tent as she replied in the affirmative and smiling as he handed over two steaming mugs.  “Here, chaps.”

“Much obliged, Arthur,” Douglas accepted with a grin.  “Top quality waiter service.”

“Oh, I was happy to do it.”

“And our gallant Captain?”

Carolyn almost inhaled her tea.  “I think it’s safe to say Martin considers himself forever in your debt.”

“Oh, _good_.”

“Though don’t think that gives you carte blanche to take advantage.  The last thing I need is some ludicrous power play in my flight deck.”

“Of _course_ he was happy to do it, Douglas!”  Arthur cut in before the pilot could respond.  “It was his idea!”

“Was it _really_?”

Carolyn rolled her eyes.  “Did you not hear what I said?”

Douglas grinned.  “I did, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh, stop milking it, you clot….”

“ _Anyway_ , Arthur,” he continued, squeezing her knee beneath the covers and dampening down a chuckle as she batted his hand away.  “What time do we need to relinquish our luxury accommodation?”

“About eleven, I think – are we going to head straight home?”

“I think we’ve had more than enough excitement for one weekend, don’t you, dear-heart?”

“An impossibility, Carolyn, surely?”

“No, I don’t mind, Douglas.”  Arthur beamed, cheeks flushing.  “Martin says he wants to take me out this afternoon – for a surprise!”

“Oh, well – no contest, then.”

“But I’ve loved this weekend!  Being all together has been brilliant, even if you did end up….”

“Relax, Arthur.”  Douglas raised a palm and smiled.  “Of course you should spend time together.”

“Really?”

“Well, naturally.”

Arthur turned to Carolyn.  “Mum?  You don’t mind if…?”

“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed, heart swelling.  “Surely you don’t need to ask?”

“I just wouldn’t want you to think that because me and Skip….that I’m….”

“Dear-heart,” she said gently, leaning forward to take his hand in reassurance.  “I’m touched by your concern, I really am...but you have absolutely nothing to worry about – alright?”

“You’re sure?”

“We will be _fine_ , Arthur.  Honestly if he _wasn’t_ planning on taking you out on your birthday, I’d be having harsh words.”

Arthur’s features slackened in relief.  “Good.  Thanks, Mum.”

“Oh, go and get back to him, for goodness sake.”

He grinned, happiness radiating from him in a warm glow.  “Right-o.  Give me a shout if you need a top up.”

She gestured to hurry him along, settling back as he skipped from the tent, and taking a large draw from her tea.  She could feel Douglas’ gaze, her forehead creasing in a frown as she turned to look at him.

“What?” she asked, suspicion creeping in at his amused chuckle.

“You mean aside from your implication of what you’d do to Martin if he dares to put a toe out of place?”

“You’re hilarious.”

His smile softened and he stretched to kiss her.  “Your unconscious use of the plural personal pronoun.”

“There’s a time and a place for pretension,” she huffed.  “And this….”

“You said ‘we’.”

“I _highly_ doubt it.”

“‘We will be fine’.  Consider it a verbatim quote.”

“Regardless – what’s your point?”

“My point is...I believe it might actually be the first time you’ve said it, that’s all.”

Carolyn felt her mouth drop open, astonished that she had allowed the slip and failed to notice.  “Yes.  Well,” she blustered, jabbing him in the thigh as he gave a deep laugh.  “I’m glad to be the source of your amusement.”

“Not amusement – gratification.”

“Give me strength.”

“You came to it on your own.  Which means you’re starting to think of us as….”

“It was a slip of the tongue!”

“I rather think not.”

She blew out an affected breath.  “You think you’re so damned clever.”

“I do, as it happens.”

“It doesn’t need a label, Douglas.”

His grin was rougish.  “Ah, but it’s _you _who implied one.”__

__“Even if I did….”_ _

__“You did.”_ _

__“ _Even if I did_ ,” she repeated through gritted teeth.  “What does it change?”_ _

__He relaxed back, his languid posture infuriating her.  “Oh, nothing much.”_ _

__“There you are, then.”_ _

__“Though at the same time it tells me all I need to know.”_ _

__“All it tells you, idiot, is that _very_ occasionally I….”_ _

__“That very occasionally your heart is ahead of your brain?”_ _

__“ _No_.”  Her tone was emphatic as she jabbed him in the ribs.  “For goodness sake.”_ _

__His smile was warm though his eyes flickered with mischief.  “It’s endearing, really.”_ _

__“Don’t you dare.”_ _

__“Who’d have thought that underneath it all, the terrifying dragon that is Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was in fact an old romantic?”_ _

__She quirked an eyebrow and raised her chin in challenge.  “Old?”_ _

__“I notice you didn’t refute ‘romantic’.”_ _

__“That goes without saying.”_ _

__“Does it, indeed?”_ _

__“Oh, give it a rest,” she groaned, tutting as he kissed her.  “Twerp.”_ _

__“Your own special variety thereof.”_ _

__She let him tug the empty cup from her fingers and pull her against him, settling them both beneath the sleeping bag again.  His kiss was gentle against her hair and she inhaled slowly, allowing her senses to fill with him in the quiet.  Outside she could hear Arthur and Martin pottering, their muted fond conversation warming down to her bones.  Contentment filtered through her defences, and she closed her eyes, beginning to drift as he hummed a nameless tune, rich as it echoed through his chest.  Residual anxiety over the previous day still scratched at her stomach and she edged closer, turning onto her side and laying a palm to his breastbone.  His heart thrummed with life against her fingers, the complex rhythms of him encapsulated in every pulse.  She would never be able to soothe him completely, of that she was certain, but for now it was enough.  His breathing had steadied, and hers followed in his wake of its own accord._ _

___All things shall be well_ , she reflected before sleep could claim her.   _And all manner of things shall be well.__ _

__FIN_ _


End file.
